^v^\V«^^T^\ \ ^ 



PS 2196 
.K3 H4 
Copy 1 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

^c^^ 

®]^p,\Tfrioju|rtg]^t "^a 

Shelf ...KSH^ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



HERE CHERRYTREE'S 



PROSE AND POETRY 



BY 



HEER CHEKRYTREE 



^ 



\N 



^'-^^^^ 



'^^-^^^^^ 




NEW YORK 
JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER 

1889 






Copyright, 1889, 

BY 

JOHN B. ALDEN. 



PKEF ACE. 



I desire to call the attention of the public, to 
a more complete collection of my literary effu- 
sions : time, means and circumstances are neces- 
sarily adequate for masterly accomplishments: 
prose and poetry writing is, with me, and per- 
haps always will be, a side issue, therefore let not 
the reader be too expectant or the critic too se- 
vere. I am confident, however, that some of 
these productions are worthy of a perusal, and 
firmly believe they will find a welcome among 
my friends, which will more than compensate 
for my undertaking. 

Here Chekrytree. 



I believe in a friendship that is less in form 
and more in truth, and therefore dedicate tliis 
humble volume to him who either amid toil or 
pleasure has proved himself m v friend, 
OLIVER M. WING. 



CONTENTS. 



My Album, .... - 9 

Are We Palling Others Down ? - - - 20 

Ships that Never Sail, . - - - 21 
The Public Giver, ----- 22 

The Answered Prayer, - - - - 23 

My Mother's Grave, - - - - - 25 

The Dying Gull, 26 

More Truth than Poetry, - - - - 27 

The Beggar's Vesper, - - - - 30 
Lines Written in N. Y. City upon hearing the Chimes, 31 

Only a Brakeman, - - - - - 32 

The Moon Beams Forth in Grandeur, - - 34 

Lines upon Seeing the Picture of Napoleon, - 35 

My Invitation, ----- 36 

The Renegade, - - - - - 37 

Lines Written in Union Square Park, N. Y. City, 40 

To a Heliotrope, ----- 41 

The Golden Shell, - - - - - 41 

The Rabbit Hunter, . . - - 42 

The Citadel, - 43 

Wee Jimmie, _ . . - - 46 

Our Village, -47 

She Gave Herself Up, - - - - 49 

To a Teapot, ol 

Miss Gossip, . . - . - 52 

The Mill on the Damn Side, - - - - 54 

A New Fowl-piece, ... - 55 
The Escape, ------ 56 

Lines Written on the Beav.h at New Bedford, - 57 

The Death of Theodore Beane, - - - 58 

Ben and Ma, ... - - 59 

The Broken Vase, - - - - - 60 



S CONTENTS. 

The Brook, - ... 1 61 

Ode to a Mosquito, - - - - - C2 

At Newport Cliffs, . . - _ C3 

A Railroad Crossing, - - - - - 64 

Purgatory, . . . _ . (55 

Cherry Rot, - - - - - - 06 

The Times, . . _ . _ 57 

Other Days, - - - - - - 73 

The Poor-house took liis Mother, - - - 74 

The Cily Bank, - 76 

I was a Millionaire, .... 77 

Welcome, - - - - - - 80 

Their Courtship, ----- 81 

Dying Alone, - - - - - - 83 

A Likelihood, - - . . . §3 

Rocks, - - - - - - 84 

A Candidate, - - . . . §5 

Death, - - - - - - 86 

Orators, via Sore-heads, - - - _ §6 



HERR CHERRYTREE'S PROSE 
AND POETRY. 



MY ALBUM. 

I. 
There 's an album on my table 

Filled with faces young and old ;- 
And I will where I am able 

Tell jou whom these pages hold. 

Here it is unclasped and open 
To a face so calm and sweet ; — 

Of one who has gone to Heaven, 
And 'tis her I hope to meet ! 

'Tis the picture of mj mother 
That now fills mj eyes with tears- 

When I think she's gone forever, 
Or I live again in years. 

How the scenes come up before me 

As I look upon thy face ; 
And I feel this truth about tliee 

Kone can ever fill thy place ! 



10 HERB CHERRYTREE'S 

Mother, raav thy spirit guide me 
In the right with faultless aim. 

'Twas the great good God who called thee, 
And I know we'll meet again ! 

II. 

Of my pictures none are dearer 

Than the one I hold to view, 
"While I turn upon another 

With a heart both firm and true ; — 
'Tis the one I have selected 

And with whom I weave my life, 
'Tis the one whom none suspected 

I would make my wedded wife. 

Now I dote not of her beauty 

Nor of figure so divine — 
She has more than done her duty 

And met me half way every time ; — 
If 'tis style and handsome creature 

That you want in life's decline, 
You will find you lack the feature 

That has made our home sublime. 

For a life of peace and quiet 

In our humble little home, 
Is the highest in our diet 

And an aiming all our own ; — 
For the flash and guilt of fashion 

But disturb the peaceful tide. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 11 

'Tis an optical delusion 

Going hand and hand with pride. 

All ! The many bright to-morrows 

We liave drawn at close of day ; — 
Aye ! the many bitter sorrows 

We have turned the other way ! — 
May the swift approaching future 

Still sustain our common joy, 
And the wisli of this dear creature 

With a darling little boy. 



III. 

This photo of mine 
Comes next in my rhyme 

And recalls the far away days : — 
When I went with " Flo," 
Where pictures were low, 

And found we had double to pay. 

We sat for the man, 

In front of the cam, 
And looked at the dame witli the watch 

The picture was made 

Behind a green shade 
And my folks said the man was a botch. 

Dad said it was off. 
And Granny would cough 
When told of the artist so great ; — 



12 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

For " Flo " ill lier stays 

Tried looking botli ways 

While I kept my gazing too straight. 

'Tis " Flo " that I praise, 

And not the bad ways 
That time in its fullness may bring ; — 

'Tis easy to fall 

And common to all, 
Then look out before you begin. 

These days now are fled 
Poor " Flo " she is dead ! 

And sleeps with her burden of shame. 
Where the tall wavy grass, 
Nodding low as we pass. 

Just covers the rest of her name. 



iv."^ 

Peg! Peg! Peg I 

All day in thy cobbler's shop ; — 

Peg ! Peg ! Peg ! 
Some day thy labor will stop. 

Peg! Peg! Peg! 
Thou must send thy boys to school ;- 

Peg! Peg! Peg! 
But stick to thy lowly stool. 



*My Father. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 13 

Peg! Peg! Peg! 

With heart both clieery and gay ; — 

Peg! Peg! Peg I 
Is now the tune of tliy lay. 

Peg! Peg! Peg I 

As the hours roll swiftly past ; — 

Peg! Peg! Fegl 
But think of the gifts thou hast. 

Sing ! Sing ! Sing ! 
All day in thy cobbler's shop ; — 

Sing ! Sing ! Sing ! 
Some day thy hammer will stop. 

Sins: ! Sino: ! Sine: ! 

C^ o O 

With heart both cheery and gay ; 

Sing ! Sing ! Sing ! 
The songs for thy brighter day. 

Sing ! Sing ! Sing ! 
All day in thy humble sphere ; — 

Sing ! Sing ! Sing ! 
The morn of tlie ni^ht is near. 



Sing ! Sing ! Sing ! 
All day on thy lowly stool ; — 

Sing ! Sing ! Sing ! 
The truth of tliy life shall rule. 



14 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 



I'll now introduce. 

Miss Silly Profuse 
With her " Langtry " bangs and freckles ;- 

Who married in haste, 

The man of her taste 
Whom she thought had plenty of shekels. 

He likewise for cents, 

Made use of his sense. 
And married Miss Silly for money ; — 

They lived just a year. 

With honeymoon clear. 
When tilings began to look funny. 

In comfortable ways. 

They passed many days 
Nor thought of the money going ; — 

They saw not the bend. 

But rushed to the end 
Like a river over-flowing. 

It came out at last. 

By living too fast, 
A dearth of the legal-tender; — 

He said he was pressed, 

And looked much distressed 
When she couldn't think of a lender. 

She spoke of an aunt. 
Who owned a rich plant, 



PROSE AND POETRY. 15 

And got lier to mortgage her place ; — 

She took to liis schemes, 

Provided liim means, 
Arid he skipped witliont leaving a trace. 

And over the way, 

I saw her to-day, 
As she answered a call at the door ; — 

A maid and a cook. 

To the man she shook 
For the one who had driven lier poor. 

VI. 

Sage, I a poor and studious recluse. 

Do here invoke the presence of tlie muse, 
And vie to thee my humbly metered strain. 

The least of all in thy memorial train ; — 
Should insignificance share with my verse. 

My skill but fails to cope my heart's reverse ; 
But sliould, though indistinct, some kindly word 

Scarce mention what tliou liast already heard, 
Perceive that I have thanked the Whittier 

For what the world hath called the seer. 
And though tliy liarp is stayed by weaker grasp, 

Tiiy songs now teach the art is not in clasp ; 
But that it is of pure celestial fire, 

That fills thy heart and vibrates from tin' lyre. 
Sing on ! O, bard ! in thy melodious way. 

To be original is thine every lay. 



16 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

VII. 

Dr. G. Felix Matthes, one of the oldest and most re- 
spected physicians of New Bedford, died at his home Sun- 
day after a protracted illness. — Boston Journal. 

Old fiieiid! thou tried and trusted one, 
In 3'outliful days I knew tliec well ; — 

Familiar face when ills begun, 
To thee I tend the last farewell ! 

Though many pains thou hast deceived, 
The great physician knew thy cure ; 

And though by death alone relieved. 
Thy skillful worth will long endure. 

Fulfillment this, thy final " call," 

" Prescription " we in time receive ; — 

With restoration for us all 

Who this physician do believe. 

The humble mound ! the peaceful home ! 

Will give her tired children rest ; — 
This mound is thine ! *this hearth thine own, 

A home for all is surely blest. 

And far beyond this restful spot 

Where care and misery lose their way ; — 

I hear this truth by spirits wrought, 
'' The Doctor's in," they seem to say. 



PEOSE AND POETRY. 17 

VIII. 

'Now we have an old tin-peddler, 
With his cry of "' any rags ? " — 

Out in every kind of weather 
And he drives the worst of nags. 

He will take tlie rags and bottles 
That you're tired of seeing round ; — 

And he'll save the broken stopples 
They will help to make a pound. 

He will buy those old back numbers, 
And at leisure look them through ; — • 

At your bock-shelf oft he plunders, 
He's an antiquarian, too. 

He can use the old tin-kettle 

That for years you've thrown away ; — 
He will save the bits of metal. 

And you'll get them back some day. 

Some new piece of tin lie'll barter 

When you've filled his cart with rags ; — - 

And with all his noisy clatter. 
Still I hear the cry of " rags." 

Tliough his clothes are not in fasliion, 
And he drives the worst of nags. 

Still he owns a princely mansion 
That he built from worthless rags. 



18 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

IX. * 

This lady of style, 
Suggests quite a smile 

As I look at her picture here ; — 
For she lost a nice brooch, 
While in her barouche 

That glistened with diamonds dear. 

She looked everywiiere. 

But saw not its glare, 
And tlie gem could nowhere be found ;- 

Though given as lost, 

She felt not its cost. 
For her wealth had never known bound. 

And all winter long. 

It was passed by a throng, 

Wliile yet in the gutter it lay ; — 
But one lucky niglit. 
It clianced to sliow bright. 

And was seen by a man old and gray. 

His thoughts were serene, 

And he eyed it keen, 
When told of its vahie so liigli ; — • 

But heard wlio had lost, 

A gem of rare cost. 
And took it to owner near by. 



* Lady Gaul, 



PEOSE AND POETR Y. 19 

He stood at tbe door, 
ig] 



While maid did isfnore 



His clothes that were seemingly bare ;- 

But the lady came, 

With her airy train, 
And accepted the gems so rare. 

She bowed with a smile, 

In her queenly style, 
And told him to wait in the hall ; — 

He is waiting yet^ 

A reward to get. 
From lady with millions of gall. 



Here I reach my album's ending 
With a country parson's face ; — 

And far better than his preaching 
Was the time for sayinsr grace 

And for fear / may be tiriiN^ 
All tlie patience you can boast, 

I will close my picture rhyming, 
And now imitate my host. 

Eeader, seek the poet's treasure. 
In the throbbings of thy heart ;- 

Yalue not his meagre measure, 
'Tis the wardrobe of the art. 



20 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

If you've felt a moment's pleasure, 
In the reading of his rliyme, 

Yon liave found tlie trutliful measure, 
And your soul will swell the chime. 



ARE WE PULLING OTHERS DOWN ? 

In this world of fleeting chances, 

Where we all desire renown, 
Do we thrive by mean advances, 

Are we pulling others down ? 

Did you gain your place by merit. 

Have you worked on honest ground ; — 

Unassuming is the ferret, 

Are you pulling others down ? 

Are you sure you were elected, 
Do you own the envied crown ; — 

Have you craft and fraud rejected, 
Are you pulling others dow^n ? 

Did you win your love by fairness, 
Was your suit with truth profound ;— 

Have you left no heart in sadness, 
Are you pulling others down ? 

In this world so great with pleasure, 
Are you spreading cares around ; — 

Have you crushed some struggling creature, 
Are you pulling others down ? 



PROSE AND POETRY. 21 

Have you felt the pangs of hunger, 

Do you look for true renown ? 
Eise hy helping one another, 

Love can never pull you down. 

Lift the fallen, soothe the wretched ! 

Let your life with good abound ; — 
All are great with this respected, 

None shall rise by pulling down ! 



SHIPS THAT NEVER SAIL. 

In my hours of needed leisure, 
Sad with life that seems to slave, 

Ethereal tends my pleasure 

Though my fetters bid me stay ! 

Thoughts alike are going, coming, 
Building ships that never sail ! 

Coursing rivers never flowing. 
Making time an idle tale ! 

Though vain are all my fancies 
Scarcely uttered into thought ; — 

Yet the beauty of a flower 
Is a painted daub on cloth. 

Softly, then, with your reflection. 
On this poorly metered line ; — 

'Tis a chord of my affection 
Slowly coming into time 1 



22 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

God may make and rule tlie ocean, 
Man, the ships that he can scale ; — 

But forever mj creation 
Be the ships that never saiL 



THE PUBLIC GIVER. 

I am a great public giver, 

On the European plan, 
That is, tlie gracious receiver 

Must say /am the man ! 

Now, in the city of W r, 

To the cream of tlie town, 

If I am a fair reader. 

He gave a million down ! 

For the handsomest college 
That the money could build. 

For the advancement of knowledge 
To tlie very well filled ! 

But not for the poor and studious, 
Who are without the means. 

But for the rich and luxurious 
Who wallow in gleams. 

For the poor can never enter 
That great bronzen door ! 

It is only for the scholar 
With his volumes of lore. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 23 

And the name of the giver 

Will be chiseled in stone ! 
As a fitting reminder 

And for the deed atone. 

The poor are still hungry ! 

The sick are in bed ! 
But heed not tlie needy i 

And feed the well fed ! 

And in your donation 

If to make a big spread, 
A college is the notion 

For it stands when you're dead ! 



THE ANSWERED PRAYER. 

I will ask you to go with me up three flights 
of stairs ; — they are steep, rickety, and it seems 
a long way up, but we soon get to the top, and in 
doing so we will enter a small attic chamber. The 
moon has arrived just ahead of us, and its silvery 
beams come pouring in at the shattered window. 
In one corner of the room a youth is lying, 
hidden partially from view by a few ragged 
coverings ; — at the other end of the room sits a 
poor way-worn looking creature, her eyes red 
with weeping and fixed upon the feeble blaze of 
a few dymg embers, and this is what she says :— 



24 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

" My prayer is answered ! that eternal prayer 
lias been that I might see my darling boy close 
his eyes in death ere it stung this withered frame ; 
— and when death shall force its way upon this 
lingering life I can welcome it in peace, thinking 
at my dying hour that I have not left an idiot to 
face this cruel, heartless world, and I shall meet 
my little family at the fireside of an eternal 
home. 

" How well do I remember the day when all 
my trials vanished, and Heaven seemed to smile 
upon my little home ; when I was thanking God 
for his most bountiful gifts, the door of this 
room slowly opened and strange men entered, 
bearing in their arms my little boy! They soothed 
my sobs by telling me he could not live, that he 
had been hit by a stone which would make an 
idiot of him — a helpless burden to a poverty- 
stricken mother ! He brought no words of 
comfort to my care-worn head, he gave no help- 
ing hand to my dreary work, yet I will miss 
him ; — he was my boy ! and I will miss him 
when the village bells toll the Sabbath hour, as 
he took his little Bible in his hand, and his 
staggering steps led him to the neighboring 
church. There crouched in some far-oif corner he 
would sit and look with wonder upon its golden 
edges ; and when the service was ended he would 
come running down tlie lane in his foolish glee. 
— His earthly life is past, and now perhaps each 



PROSE AND POETRY. 25 

truth bound beneath those goIBen edges moment- 
ly reveals itself to a happy sinless mind. 

"And when the cares of this world shall crowd 
about my weary head, and dark clouds o'er- 
shadow my life, one thought will linger with me 
still, to break the threatening mist ; as he lay 
dying on this damp, cold floor, and I held liis 
aching head, though it were forbidden him to 
speak with sense, yet his face bore a calm and 
thankful smile ; and as I have often beckoned to 
liim at the twilight hour, may he soon beckon to 
me when I shall turn the last bend in the road 
of life. — I, the only mourner, will follow the 
pauper's hearse as it wends its way slowly to the 
churchyard, where flowers bloom and fade, where 
the crickets chirp their lonely vespers." 



MY MOTHER'S GRAVE 

I stood beside the place to-day 

And looked upon the grass-grown mound, 
Wherein my dear good mother lay, 

At rest in death, asleep profound ! 

I lingered long beside the grave. 

The essential spot, the chiseled stone ; — 

With heavy heart respectfully paid, 
I left as I had come, alone ! 



( HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

But with each step tliere seemed to come, 
A spirit quite along the street ; — 

That brought to mind my dear old home, 
Now gone ! forever obsolete ! 

I tried my mind to occupy, 

With thoughts of far different mood ; — 
But the spirit seemed forever by. 

Hasten or linger as I would. 

I leaned ao^ainst the old stone wall, 
And brushed the tell-tale tears away, 

Filled with a more fervent resolve 
That I would do her will next day. 

And the haunt seemed to have left me, 
As I journeyed my way along ; — 

New thoughts now came up.before me 
And gav^e the finish to my song. 



THE DYING GULL. 

Oft hast thou soared in dizzy flight. 
But now thy course deludes thy sight ; — 
And boldly plunged into the main 
That chills thy heart, that yields the pain. 
Poor bird ! kind death hath hushed thine ear 
To those who know thou art so dear ; — 
Who from the cliff, that fronts the sea, 
Call, call, in vain, in vain for thee ! 



PROSE AND POETRY. 27 

And now, thy mate moves o'er thy head 
To turn in swiftness from the dead ; — 
For deatli's last sleep hath closed thine eye, 
And the great waves that pass thee by 
Murmur a sad dirge on the way, 
For a spirit hath flown away. 



MORE TRUTH THAN POETRY. 

Scene : — The gateway of Heaven ; — the guard arousing 
from sleep. 

The Guard: 
Heyday ! no one liere ! incomparable ! 
Kever before has such occurred with me ; 
^lethinks the fair Mors has been negligent, 
Or, some, perhaps, have passed unobserved. It 
Is true I slept soundly ; and yet, the jar 
Of the gate usually awakens 
Me : I'll see. Ah ! who's that ? His maneuvers 
Are unfamiliar. [Beckons to so7neone on the in- 
side.'] Hither ! with thyself ! 

Enter John Calvin through the gate. 
I would see thy pass ! 

John Calvin : 

I am without sucli. 
I neglected to obtain one upon 
My arrival. 

The Guard: 

Sneaking it, hey ? 



28 HERE CHERRYTREE'S 

John Calvin : 
Sir? I 
Found tliee asleep wlien I came, and seeming 
So weary, that I would have awakened 
Thee against my oww conscience ; and thinking 
That I should meet with some who knew me, I 
Entered to find every thino^ verv strano^e ! 

Tiie Guard : 
Truly ! who art thou, that thou sliould'st have the 
Audacity to take such upon thyself ? 
This is the gate of Heaven ! 

John Calvin : 
I am John 
Calvin ; — more, he who has serviced life for 
The master ; I am the founder of the 
Baptist faith ! 

The Guard: 
Enter, pass upon the left, 
This will admit thee to thy abiding. 

[After giving check, J. C. passes through gate. 
JVIethinks that fellow^ must have scaled the wall, 
I perceived a tear upon his breeches. 
Ah ! why here, gospel monger ? 
Enter Mr. Illhumored, with Bible under his arm, who 
me(ikly discloses himself. 

Mr. Illhumored: 
Yerily ! 
I am a preacher of the blessed word, 
I have attended church since the first day 
I adorned short clothes ; I have w^itli me praise- 



PROSE AND POETRY. 29 

Wortb}^ remarks of my ability 

To fill the pastorate of the Methodist 

Creed ; I have nightly prayed for the sceptic, 

The heathen, and have visited sisters 

Of my flock when ill inclined ; I 

Am very amiable, although my 

Name bespeaks the reverse ; I plead therefore ! 

The Guard : 
Have done ! prattler ! and pass upon the right ; 
At the farther end of the domicile 
You will perceive the name signifying 
Thy sect ; this check will admit thee ; hold no 
Conversation with those wdiom you may meet 
On the way, for they are members of the 
Jury and are now out on a case. Oh! 

[Exit Mr. Illhumored. 
Dear ! I am sick of this business ; I have 
Grown poor since I have held the position ; — 
Spiritual food may be a healthy 
Diet, but never sates my appetite. 

[Singing within. 
There ! lie is welcome on the beautiful 
Shore. Ah ! that confounded hymn has duped 

me 
Of more rest than it has the Devil of 
Souls : Ha ! 

Enter a poor trembling Indian. 
What unsightly thing is this ? so 
Trembling ! who art thou and what hast thou 

done 



30 HERR CIIERRYTREE'jS 

That t/iou slionld'st look for entrance here ? what 

thij 
Creed ? have out thv say ! 

The Indian: 

I have done nothing ! 
I have no creed ! I am uncivilized ! 
Untaught ! vvdld ! I am an Indian ! 
Yet, I believe in the " Great Spirit." 

The Guard : 

Get 
Thee in ! and where thou art disposed to go, 
So goest thou ; Heaven is wide to thee. 



THE BEGGAR'S VESPER. 

The last rays of the setting sun were falling in 
the attic of a nearly deserted dwelling ; an old 
man is sitting by the window looking out upon 
the market place. I cannot look upon his 
withered frame and whitened hair, without 
thinking that liis life, with the sun, is setting, 
and now its rays are faintly glimmering. A 
clumsy tread now" falls upon the hollow-sound- 
ing stairs, a smile flits across the old man's face, 
and his eyes, though dimmed with age, sparkle 
in youthful glow. The door opens and a little 
cripple hobbles into the room; her face is familiar 
for I have seen her plodding her way home from 



PROSE AND POETRY. 31 

school, never joining in the sports of her play- 
mates. 

The vesper bells had now commenced their 
evening chimes, and these children, one a child 
with God, the other with man, were listening to 
their evening hymns : — " My child ! for us the 
vesper bells have chimed their evening hymns, 
and this pleasant silence that steals upon us with 
the shadows of the night is our silent prayer ! 
let us, as they within the distant church, bow in 
silent reverence to One Divine." 

And the little cripple knelt upon the floor ; 
her pale features raised toward the ceiling, with 
her hands fervently clasped, gave her the aspect 
of an angel ; — as the western hills glowed in their 
sunlit garb, so her thoughts glowed in the in- 
visible garb of happiness. The old man awoke 
from his dreaming thoughts to look with pleas- 
ure upon the little wayfarer that knelt beside 
him ; — but now, the curtain of night has shielded 
them from our view, and casts from its folds of 
darkness the needful sleep. 



LINES. 

Written in New York City, Sunday evening, April 14th, 
1878, upon hearing the chime-bells. 

I sit by my window and listen. 
To the sweetly chiming bells ; 



33 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

And their melody seems to christen 
My soul with wondrous spells. 

And now I gaze upon the moonlight, 
As it fills the street below ; — 

Mirroring fair and happy faces 
And many full sad with woe. 

For now, I see a pleading vagrant, 
Who vainly asks for bread — 

As she totters along the pavement 
Wishing! wishing ! to be dead. 

Oh ! chimes, sweet with music to my ear. 
Move her to better things below ; — 

And teach as well the mighty million 
Good and better deeds to show. 



ONLY A BRAKEMAN. 

These are words w^e hear every day 
As we pass the crossing gate, 

Only a brakeman over the way, 
Killed by the down-coming freight. 

Only a brakeman, that is all ! . 

Lying dead on our coal-house floor ; — 
In answer to the whistle's call 

A member of the down brakes corps ! 



PROSE AND POETRY. 33 

Only a coroner, that is all ! 

Attending now the final rites ; — 
Only a brakeraan. that is all ! 

That he in his diary writes. 

Only a home, forever gone ! 

Only a face, forever sad ! 
This is the railroad's daily song 

As they wave their blood-colored flag. 

Only a stockholder, that is all ! 

Counting now his worldly gains — 
Who reads not of the brakeman's fall ! 

E'or feels his terrible pains. 

Only a company, getting rich ! 

In an undertaker's style. 
With a life for every switch 

And funeral for every mile ! 

Only a God, that is all ! 

President of the finest line — 
Where none smash np, nor brakeman fall. 

And they make their regular time. 

Only justice, that is all ! 

Final statement of railroad gains, 
When dividends take the fall 

And stock-holders divide the pains. 



34 IIERR CHERRYTREE'S 

" When Butler, needy M'retch, was yet alive 
No generous patron would a dinner give. 
See him resolved to clay and turned to dust 
Presented with a monumental bust ! 
The Poet's fate is here in emblem shown, 
He asked for bread and he received a stone." 

The moon beams forth in grandeur, 
As I in my cliamber sit ; — 

And night is bathed in briglitness 
While my humble room is lit. 

The world's abed and sleeping 

And the midnight guard moves on ; — 

While I my vigil keeping 
With the old rejected song ! 

For poets live and vanquish 
Like the shadows of a night ; — 

They sing, and starve, and languish, 
While the world is ever bright. 

An attic and a rag-heap 

Tells where they sung and died ; — 
And Muses paid their visits 

Where cities point with pride ! 

And this is true distinction, 
And still the ready fate ; — 

For Muses court starvation 
While fools grow fat with state. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 35 

LINES. 

Written upon looking at the picture of Napoleon Bona- 
parte. 

Alone in thoiiglit and meditation, 
Brooding over the wasted past, 

Regretting all my hasty actions, 
Promising it will be the last. 

Haunted by a reproachful vision, 
Fearful to-morrow grants no change, 

I long for the earth's quiet dwelling 
And departure from life's dark range. 

And I gaze upon the lamp-lit picture 
That hangs suspended on the wall, 

The great and only Napoleon, 
Prolific in his sad downfall ! 

As I look into his downcast face, 
Neglected in his rock-bound seat. 

Looking out into the ocean. 

Another " Waterloo " beyond retreat ! 

My hopes seem to be growing brighter, 

For a soldier's in the room ! 
And my cares are lifting from me 

In the great Napoleon's gloom ! 

And who cannot look about them. 

No matter how bowed down with care, 

And always find alleviation. 
In another's far greater share ? 



36 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

MY IXVITATIOI^. 

I've had an invitation 
To a very swell affair ; — 

And my basket of provision 
Entitles me a chair. 

'Twill be a selected social 

For only a chosen few, 
But in the grand old total 

I shall be there with both feet, too. 

For we are the peoj^le 

And distinct from the rest, 

As tlie Methodist steeple 
Is like Bartholdi's best. 

Oh ! society is the stuff, 

Especially in a little town ; — 

I say it's a game of bluff 
Played only by a clown ! 

Now remember this timely tip 
And take it with you home ; — 

Tillage eyes are sizing it, 
'Tis for all, not you alone. 

But thinking of that invitation, 
That finally comes to all — 

Of tliat grand association 
Where God alone will call ! 



PROSE AND POETRY, 2n 

Will you be among the chosen 

Selected with the few ? 
Assessors they are holden 

To keep the records true. 

For there we'll have society, 

Witliout the silk and satin flounce, 

And cod-fish aristocracy, 
Will surely get the bounce. 



THE RENEGADE. 

Scene '—A wood ; Philip, the Sachem, is sitting near a 
few blazing fagots, seeming in deep thought: by his side 
sleeps his little son. 

Beneath yon nighted shades, sleep the remnant 

Of my little band ;— encamped where death is 

Sentry. Ah ! the sainted ones of creed have 

Else than befooled me, our homes are laid waste, 

Our pleasant camp-fires treacherous comforts ! 

My tattered force, strewn like the autumn leaves, 

And, as the naked shrub yields to the storm. 

So, I must bow to their prosperous sway. 

The Indian hath sheltered those who have 

Made him homeless ! Ah ! he hop'd for those, 

who 
Have filled him with despair ! he welcom'd those 
To whom he bids no farewell ; aye ! curs'd be 
They, who like the viper seem to fondle, 
Yet, move with deadly aim ! iSTight, has thrown 

its 



88 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

Cloak about me, and ere it be too late 
I must scan our darksome way. 
As he is about to leave, the Renegade enters, wasted 
and wayworn. 

Alas ! what 
Evil spirit bath led thee to this wood ? 

Renegade : 
The spirit of Eevenge ! 

Philip : 

Miscreant ! is 
'Not my wretched lot enough to move thy 
HardenM heart, or hath a fifth sense ne'er been 
Quoted in thy frame ? 

Renegade : 
Dolt ? thy prating tongue. 
Doth flatter thee ! the name fool quests pity ; 
Benighted is he that gives thee such ; thou 
Plast slain my brother ! gloat filled thine eyes as 
They watched the blood that flow'd from his 

youthful 
Form ; he who would invoke the blessings of 
Peace ; and thou did'st smite him to the earth, 

aye. 
Leaving him for the raven's meal ! But one 
More like the just than thee, laid him beneath 
The woodland's turf, where the cypress bends in 
Mournful attitude and the rustling leaves 
Alone pay heed to his sepulchre : I 
Come to avenge the wronged ! 



PROSE AND POETRY. 39 

Philip : 

As the wayworn 
Traveller greets tlie Hearing liut, so I 
Welcome the approach of death ! the resistive 
Abode, that dawns in peaceful aspect at 
The bend of life. Long have I baffl'd the 
White man ; longer, I cannot oppose ; my , 

Heart is sad, my spirit broken ; like the ' 

Wounded doe, I seek the quiet inlet, 
But ray blood betrays me. Traitor ! ! my breast 
Is bare. 

Renegade : 
How with thy brat ? Dost hear the cries 
That plead for thy return ? Know'st thou that the 
Light of civilization will be to 
Him an Ignis Fatuus ? from its circling 
Depths never can he retreat. 
Philip : 

Faithless wretch ! 
As thou hast belied the blood that suckl'd 
Thee, so may that, which thou dost foster, meet 
Thee likewise ! 

[The boy has awakened and recognizing the Renegade, 
runs to his side.] 

Oh ! God ! he greets thy coming. 
Ah ! it seems as though it were of yester 
Noon, that he played upon thy knee ; that his 
Hand was clasped about thy neck ; O ! death ! 

bid 
The poor sachem pass within that camp, where 



40 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

Sleep soothes the troubl'd head and rests the 

Avearj 
Fugitive ! 

Renegade : 
Ha ! that scene doth gall my soul ! 
Memory ! thou conscientious blab, would'st 
Balk me here ? tut, this is nature's whim. Brat, 
Away ! thy presence would make an oaf of 
Me. Murderer ! we are quits, when this blade 
Shall find its sheath within thy heart. 

[He rushes upon him : they fight : Philip falls fatally 
wounded : his child runs to him, Philip grasps his knife 
and stabs him as the Renegade is about to tear him away.] 

Fooled ? Ah ! 
Flesh, though drudge to the thought, I would 

give thee 
Liberty ; — could it be in death ? the night 
To all, wherein the sleeper need not turn 
His pillow o'er. Alas ! should I in the 
Stead of peace find a hell : whither then my 
Soul? Ah ! presuming tenant of this mortal 
Dwelling ! I cast thee out ! thou art to all 
A stranger, yet, death will take thee in. 

[Stabs himself. 



LINES. 



Written in Union Square Park, New York City, April 
13th, " '78." 

Sing, little birds upon the branches, 
Merry warblers of the spring ; — 



PROSE AND POETRY. 41 

Pleasing to me the varied fancies 
Thou art yearly wont to bring. 

Refreshing now, thy spring-time chirrup, 

In the city's noisy din, 
As is the cooling breeze that prancing 

Marks with spray the river's brim. 

Perplexed with cares that seem to weary, 
I yearn for thy freedom more ! 

And that which I value so dearly 
Is but least of all thv store. 



TO A HELIOTROPE. 

Stay, guest within my chamber. 
Welcome to the place you hold. 

As are the thoughts you render 
To the dwelHng of my soul. 

Sweet reminder of a Being, 
Stay, and in thy meekly way, 

Still retain to earth a seeming, 

"Warmed by more than Heaven's ray 



THE GOLDEN SHELL. 

A little maid wanders by the sea. 
Gathering golden shells for me ; — 
Pilling her pretty pinafore, 



4^ HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

Heedless of the waves that wet her o'er 

Her limbs are graced in nature's hose, 

Her hair is like the shells in glow. 

Ah ! she hath passed, to come no more, 

No, though I saunter o'er and o'er. 

The sands will ne'er again relate 

That I liave tarried, I am late ; — 

Yet I too shall go her way. 

Oh ! should it seem like one dark day. 

Void of a light to guide me on. 

Oh ! faith, wilt though be ever strong ? 

And let me take her golden shell, 

To know that it may only tell, 

Of her who has gone before ! 

"Who leaves me wandering on the shore. 



THE RABBIT HUNTER. 

I am a great rabbit hunter 

And noiseless on the tread ; 
My dog, he is a cooler, 

A perfect thoroughbred ! 

My gun, 'tis made of finest tin, 
"When others I cannot borrow, 

And just the same through thick or thin. 
The rabbits yell with sorrow ! 

'Twas yesterday we struck a track 
And followed it for half a mile. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 43 

And when we came np to the scratch 
We found we'd only struck " a smile." 

For there in the bushes so neat 
Lay a pint of the hunter's kit ; 

And but for my protruding feet, 
The dog and I, we'd had a rare-hit I 



THE CITADEL. 

The village bells were tolling; some one was 
dead, for the old sexton stood in the entry-way 
of the meeting-house pulling down upon the 
ropes, as a waggon driven by a couple of soldiers 
was passing. The village smith leaned upon his 
anvil, and the neighboring grocer was looking 
over his glasses upon the meek procession : who 
was dead ? nobody knew ; it was a soldier who 
had fallen, in battle and his blood-stained gar- 
ments only identified his regiment. 

A forsaken and destitute looking creature now 
came tottering along, muttering to herself : — ^'He 
is dead ! and they will not let me see his face — 
no, they will not let me see my Jamie." This 
unfortunate soul had lost a son in the war ; he left 
her, enlisted and was never heard from, and the 
loss of her only boy had sorrow^f nlly affected her 
mind. She stopped as she reached the corner, 
and looking tenderly into the face of a little girl 



44 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

that stood there with her companion, she said : — 
" You did not know my boy, did you ? they are 
taking him away." And she looked up after the 
slowly moving cart, which was ascending the 
winding hill : the little girls detected her averted 
movement, and half-frightened ran away, shout- 
ing " It's old Martha, tlie crazy woman." 

The miserable woman watched them for a mo- 
ment with tearful eyes, and then turned away, 
talking to herself, as before : — " Yes, I am crazy, 
the gray-haired sire meets me with a chuckle, the 
boy imparts his scorn in snow, the maiden smiles 
at my rags ! world how cold tliou art ! my boy ! 
my poor boy ! he left his home, his mother, his 
companions, to defend his endangered country — 
he tells his love by dying for his hate — he falls 
in battle, as the flower falls, imparting sweetness 
in its death ! The world deprives me of hope 
and leaves me with despair. I ask for that 
which has made my home a heaven, and I am 
crazy ; I ask for aid, and I am a pauper ! Oh ! 
world, can all my askings receive the answer that 
will give me hope once more, once again fill this 
poor old heart with gladness ? then give me back 
my boy ! " 

She had now reached the graveyard and stood 
leaning against the great stone post as the last of 
a few curious followers entered the cemetery ; 
she stood like one in a dream for a few moments, 



PROSE AND POETRY. 45 

and then moved along, reaching the newly made 
grave as those who had gathered were taking the 
last look at the dead soldier. 

There he lay clothed in the armor of the battle- 
field — his features were not discernible — his 
hand paled with death lay across his bosom, and 
a star of our banner, crimsoned with his blood, 
lay over the fatal wound : the poor trembling 
woman stood near, looking upon his mutilated 
form ; — she seemed quite calm, then suddenly her 
eyes fell upon a fragment of paper which just 
appeared above the pocket of blue, and moved 
as though with the rapidity of lightning she 
snatched it, and opening it she read : " Mother, 
we are in the fight, and I hear the cries of vic- 
tory." " My God ! it is my boy ! " and she fell 
to the ground in a swoon. 

When she awoke it was at her home, in the 
old house near the church ; the news had spread 
quickly over the little village, and familiar faces 
stood at her bedside. The little girl whom we 
have seen before, stood there watching the re- 
turn of consciousness, and when it dawned she 
welcomed it with a kiss ; — and this childish way 
to seek forgiveness formed by love a citadel, and 
its guardless walls held the stay of the lingering 
soul in security. 



46 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

WEE JIMMIE. 

Of all the themes that find my pen 
And occupy my leisure time ; — 

I take no greater pleasure then 

To give " Wee Jimmie " now the rhyme. 

The kid that came from Scotland's isle 

And reached us with our greatest storm ; — 

With snow piled high, and stormy sky 
He verily looked forlorn. 

He found the town half hid from sight 
Asleep beneath the winter snows ; — 

He found a home both warm and bright 
And now for dear New England crows. 

Our town it has its wise prelates 

And great big men do here abound ; — 

But all are cakes at pitching quakes 

When " Wee Jimmie " is on the ground. 

He puts to sleep the latest clogs 

And scoops the shining coppers in ; — 

He envies none their better togs 

^'Wee Jimmie " 's a trump and bound to win. 

" Wee Jimmie " has no father's aid 

His mother works the live-long while ; — 

His age is six, he never kicks, 
He is a dandy without guile. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 47 

He stands upon liis ample Lead 

Witli a smile upon his face ; — 
He goes to sleep in any bed 

And easy gives his cares the chase. 

He writes his name in better style 

Than half the full grown men in town ; — 

He turns hand springs and daily sings 
He is our Harlequin and clown. 

And on great independence day 
He appeared in a fine disguise : — 

He left his betters all at bay — 
And fairly took the leading prize. 

For on he came in his barouche, 
Disguised in a real pair of shoes ; — 

Take down the spread, make up his bed, 
We'll give '' wee Jimmie " now a snooze. 



OUR VILLAGE. 

NORTH GRAFTON. 

Our thriving village you will find. 

Within great W r's wide domain 

And though in size ^xeh-efar behind. 
We take a place in point of fame. 

We are a fly-speck of a place, 

Surrounded by great wooded hills , — 



48 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

Where wind and gossip daily race 
And neighbors know each others' ills. 

'Twas here great Belcher came in state, 
With title for the infant town ; — 

While Indians with surplus great 

Were lining out the new-sold ground. 

And now we note our present age, 

When woods give way to stately homes ;- 

And iron rails surpass the stage, 
Connecting us with many zones. 

We have our schools and churches too, 
Where godly words do not attract ; — 

For empty most is every pew. 

While rabbits they can swear to that. 

We have our great societies. 

Where morals they alone exist ; — 

And none have improprieties. 
As our history will insist. 

We have our big and little men. 

Who used to do the town with paint ; — 

But now, they all get in at ten 

Or put up with their wife's complaint. 

We have our wills and law disputes. 

Where honest bills will scarcely hold ;— 

And few succeed with good reputes 
While flip and forward stalk the bold. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 4d 

We have our a,ir-gan gallery, 

A banker for our tid-bit change ; — 

With target nailed beneath the tree 
And trains on wing for finer range. 

We liave our corner grocery shop, 
AVhere villagers will nightly gad ; — 

To take their share of home-brewed hop 
And really prove it's not so bad. 

We used to have a big brass band, 

That filled the night with mad refrains ; — 

But cats were soon to leave the land, 
And cracked became our window panes. 

We have our slim and buxom girls. 

Who think they put the town to sleep ; — 

Who spread broadcast the latest frills 
And really make us obsolete. 

In fact we share our worldly fame 
Like other towns within the State ; — 

I fain would give our proper name. 
But we are quite N" G of late. 



SHE GAVE HERSELF UP. 

Within the depths of woody glade 

Where trace of man is scarcely seen — 

A frightened deer by thirst delayed. 
Stood close beside a wayward stream. 



50 HERR CHERRYTREKS 

While far away and near the brash 

A hound close snuffling on the ground, 

With cracky bark and sudden rush, 
Now starts the pack in eager bound. 

Howl upon howl now reach the ear 

While hunters haste to cheer the pack — 

And far beyond the listening deer 

Knows well the hounds are on her track. 

With fearless plunge, she vaults the brook 
Nor stops till sounds have died away ; — 

And when she does, that restless look 
Predicts the hounds are still at bay. 

A crackling shot now checks her stay 
And badly crippled on she bounds, 

While belching dogs perceive their prey. 
And fill the woods with furious sounds. 

And deep into the marshy place 
The driven deer bewildered reels ; — 

While hounds close up the narrow space 
And follow fast upon her heels. 

And just beyond the high-grown grove 
Behold the deer's half human feat ; — 

Now sorely pressed, to mercy drove, 
She flings herself at woodman's feet. 

This as the very last resort 

To seek protection from the hounds, 



PROSE AND POETRY. 51 

But proves a faitli too dearly bought 
For woodman's axe with blood abounds. 

O, brutal man ! to thus betray 

The simple faith of helpless doe ; — 

Thou worse than hounds that track their prey, 
How could' st thou strike the heartless blow? 

Thou, too, on some unlucky day 
When driven by oppressive foe, 

May'st look for aid and meet thy pay 
Like this poor harmless, helpless doe. 



TO A TEA-POT. 

Dull urn, like harper of the self-same tune 
That promotes a charm to the old maid's doom ! 
Methinks the abler bards have failed to sing 
Of such as thee, meek inferior thing ;— 
And yet, neglecting thee within their verse 
But proves thy gain was with the reverse. 
For left to the elderly virgin's tongue 
Thou hast, throughout the world already sung, 
With note more pleasing to the general ear 
Tlian sweeter strains, no matter how they veer. 
For who has not mused o'er the steaming pot. 
While sweeter strains remain unsought ? 
Yes, many a poet has sung and gone 
While thy dull unmetered hum goes on ! 
Old maids ! beware ! I warn attend the urn. 



52 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

For poets soon may liave their sumptnons turn 
And vie with far more sweeter strains 
Than thy simple, liissing nrn proclaims. 



MISS GOSSIP. 

My maiden name is Gossip 
And I've had many a chance ; 

But I would never swop it — 
"Not at the very first glance. 

No, I prefer to remain single 

Just as long as I can,* 
If my tongue is in the middle 

I wouldn't be a man ! 

I know I'm not invited 

To the entertainment of ours ; 

Eut even if I'm slighted 

7 know who keeps these late hours. 

There's that silly Miss So-and-so, 

With all her airy airs ; 
/know she went to see "'Zozo," 

And had orchestra chairs. 

Why, and look at that new dress, 
AYith its astonishing pleat ! 

Now isn't it enough to distress 
Those who try to look neat ? 



PROSE AXD POETRY. 53 

Wliv, if slie was my daugliter 

And I had anytliirfg to say ! 
Now you know, Td just walk liei- 

In a promising way. 

They say I'm a great talker 

And heaping full of gad ; — 
And because she isn't my daughter 

I am terribly mad. 

Gracious Lord ! do you suppose 

That IM have a man about ? 
Well, no ! not for all the clothes 

This here town could turn out. 

Ah ! isn't that a stranger ? 

Why, who else can it be ? 
What an awful neat stepper, 

I'll just go out and see. 

I never was so mistaken, 

Who do you supjiose it is ? 
Why, it's that young Mister Cliapin 

Without that beard of his. 

Oh ! I'm in such a flutter, 

Tliese wicked, thouglitless men ! 

They don't care how they start yer. 
But they'll never say " when." 



54 HERE CHERRYTREE'S 

THE MILL ON THE DAMN-SIDE. 

A corporation sldrts tlie town, 
Polluting every germ of health 

By hiring children scarcely grown 
While they speed on toward wealth. 

The mill suggests ! the curse survives ! 

Of slaving children for their gain ; 
While social law protects their lives 

And boldly will their rights sustain. 

The notice hangs within their doors, 
But only for the blind to read. 

For this is what they tell their boys. 
If they to sixty hours agreed. 

A lock is on this prison door, 
A watch is stationed at the gate. 

They care not for tlie ten hour law 
And spurn the orders of our State ! 

They'd hire our babes when first they creep. 
If they could spin the twisted thread ; — 

They figure o?ily what is cheap 
And know the need is daily bread ! 

Our town is small, but w^ide awake 

To an illegal glass of beer ; — 
And well offenders know their fate 

When they attempt the traflic here. 



PROSE AXD POETRY. 55 

The mill still here polluting tlirives, 

Defiant to all posted laws ! 
And children more will slave their lives 

Before they'll fear the eagle's claws ! 

The mill still rules ! the curse survives ! 

'Tis twisted in their very thread, 
'Twill spool upon their moneyed lives 

And follow them when they are dead ! 



A NEW FOWL-PIECE. 

Of sensations rich and rare 

I have one to relate, 
And though it started quite a scare, 

It justly took the cake. 

About a noisy little pug 
That startled well the town, 

By getting all his daily grub 
In running chickens down. 

He killed his neighbors one by one. 
The rest got up and fled ; — 

And when he saw what he had done 
He merely scratched his head ! 

One day the neighbor he came home 
To find his breeders dead. 

When he sat dow^n upon a stone 
And likewise scratclied his head! 



HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

The dog looked back and saw him there, 
Shaking liis troubled pate ; — 

When np he went into the air, 
Just where, I can't relate. 

The owner hunted for his Ben 
And talked of war and peace. 

But Ben had met a different hen, 
And skipped with a ue\Y foid-jpiece. 



THE ESCAPE. 

Djing in a prison ward 
A wounded convict lay ; 

His head pillowed by a pard 
Who wore the prison grey. 

Just at his side a letter, 

Begrimmed by frequent care. 
And in his cell the jailer 

Sat, in tlie only chair. 

A little pet canary, 

Though doubly caged by fate, 
Was singing sweet and cheery 

Within the walls so great. 

I am dying, he would say, 
To shield another's wrong. 

Wondering he passed the day. 
At night his soul was gone. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 57 

And before lie breathed liis last 

He rose up in his bed ; — 
With his eyes a setting fast, 

In broken accents said : 

" I'm going ' Pard ! '—I'm going ! 

I've scaled the wall this time, 
I hear the guards, they're firing 

Along the watchful line ! 

" Say ' Pard ! ' they'll be suspended ! 

They're shooting wide to-night ; " — 
And here his soul ascended 

From darkness into light 1 



LINES 

Written on the beach at New Bedford, February 1st, 
1878. 

I saunter by the coming tide. 

Alone upon the sea-strewn shore, 
And yet forever at my side 
Seems a spirit wandering o'er. 

The cold dull thud of the sea 

Beguiles me with that sweeter lay. 

That touched our souls in harmony 
And moved our hearts but in one way. 

I linger by the familiar seat 

Where oft I named the stars above. 



58 HERE CHERRYTREE'S 

And there, again, tliy thoughtless retreat 
But moves me to thee in mj love, 

O soul ! art thou forever gone, 

Or dost thou sometimes seem with me \ 

And do I sit but here alone 

Or am I on the shore with thee ? 



[THE DEATH OF THEODORE BEANE. 

There's a footprint for the purest snow, 
A death-kai)ck for the slighted door ;- 

There's a rough impression of sorrow 
That each heart alone must endure. 

Each hearthstone has its dying ember, 
That lingers on with feeble glow ; — 

Each fireside its elder member 
That while others stay it must go. 

And thus 'tis those that dying leave us, 
That light the pathway to the goal. 

That otherwise would seem treacherous, 
To the weary wandering soul ! 

For death, like the snow that's falling"^ 
On this cheerless wintry day. 

Is with its mission hastening 
Hopeful spring on her joyous way. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 59 

BEN AND MA. 

The service was ending, 

The hat was going round ; — 
And the coins falling 

Gave a musical sound. 

It was up to the banker, 

At his ease giving hand ; — 
And he mortgaged a bumper 

On the promising land ! 

And his handsome daughter, 

With her queenly smile. 
Had folded another 

For the carpeted aisle. 

But the deacon, bowing, 

Passed on his way ; 
While a kid sat pointing 

Where the fiver lay ! 

Still, with assuming grace, 

The deacon held the hat, 
'Till he canae face to face 

Before the anxious brat. 

And nearly bending in two 

Lending his abler ear, 
He leaned far over the pew 

That he'd distinctly hear. 



60 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

"' You dropped a fiver, * Snell,' 

The seventh pew beyond ; 
I saw it as it fell, 

It came from Mr. Pond." 

Straightway the aisle he went 

To where the fiver lay ;— 
And when he his body bent 

A voice came : '• Let us pray." 

And there to the kid's delight. 

Not daring to stand up, 
Deacon held the fiver tio:ht — 

Another " Y " he cut ! 

The mother could no longer bear, 
She made those pants for Ben ; — 

A well placed grip, an awful tear, 
And then the chant. Amen ! 

The congregation they filed out. 

While Ben and ma they stayed behind, 

For ma had been a trifle stout, 
And pants are seldom lined. 



THE BROKEN VASE. 

Beside yon humbly mounded grave. 
Wherein some form now lowly lies, 

A broken vase imparts the love. 
That a withered flower implies ! 



PROSE AND POETRY. 61 

The sweetness of its dying blush 
Has sought a milder atmosphere, 

And like the soul that leaves the dust 
To move within another sphere, 

The grave is but the broken vase 

Wherein we place the treasured gem, 

To meet with that mysterious fate 
That claims a wisdom over men ! 

Lone inmate of this shaded spot. 
The solitude of death is thine ! 

I, too, some day will share thy lot 
And but await unfolding time. 

The churchyard gloom shall then be mine, 
O ! will some stranger gently place 

A fragrant blooming jessamine 

Within my stained and broken vase ! 

That it may stop some passer-by 
To look upon its wilted sedge, 

And think as I have learned to sigli 
The fragrance of its life is fled. 



THE BROOK. 
Upon thy banks, O babbling stream, 
1 learned and loved to idly dream ;— 
By thee I passed the hours of day 
In rudely dreaming time away. 



HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

Listening to thy idle song! 
Dreaming as it sallied on, 
To the little maid with leakj cup 
Who climbs the rock to catch a siip. 

O ! blithesome brook, how like mv dream 
Is thy noisy, prattling stream ! 
Flowing o'er the golden sand 
On to its fall so near at hand. 

Though ere so vain, the fevered brow 
Doth find a balm within thy flow ; — 
And thou, oh ! dream, in youth so vain, 
Yieldeth hours to my life again. 



ODE TO A MOSQUITO. 

Yain minstrel of the evening train 
There is no charm within thy strain, 
And why persistent wilt thou play 
To me, who care not for thy lay ? 

Away ! disturber of my sleep ! 
And force me not my vow to keep, 
Nor stay to tune thy airy harp. 
As though thou play'st with any sharp. 

Dull bird ! thy simple touching strain 
Imparts more truth than I proclaim ; — 
For I have heard that from thy note 



PROSE AND POETRY. 63 

The very best musicians quote ! 
That all the music doth depend 
Upon the sounds that natures lend. 

How now ! for this audacious bird 
Can I forgive the cheek bestirred, 
If notes that charm tliis ear of mine 
But signify what has been thine? 

And yet I ne'er can wear the ore, 
Though the diamond be its core ; — 
So I reject thy serenade, 
Although it has a Mozart made. 



AT NEWPORT CLIFFS. 

I stood at night upon the cliffs 

That sternly face the Newport sea ; — 

And watched the breakers rolling in. 
And heard their wild, sad minstrelsy. 

The moon was in its splendor br^ , 
Its pale light falling on the sea, 

That leaped and pranced among the crags 
That moved to sway in melody. 

Above my head the palace soared, 
Below me stood the fisher's cot ; 

I saw the scene that favored both 
And felt the wisdom that it taught. 



64 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

A RAILROAD CROSSING. 

There is a railroad crossing, 

Kot \ery far away ! 
And the sio^nal ogives tlie warning 

At niglit and break of day. 

" Lookont " is tlie word that's given 
On the towering post at liand, 

And your chances are about even 
For tlie liappier. better land 1 

For they are always running 
At an ever heedless rate, 

And the public in travelling 
Are simply making them great! 

And when you're at the crossing, 
In the dark hours of the night. 

Take a yankee for guessing, 
The bell will not be right ! 

But the expresses will be coming, 
With their loads of human freight ! 

And the bell will do its ringing. 
When it is all too late! 

Now it is only a question, 
And to their great delight. 

When we give t/ie?n the signal 
And furnish ihe?n the liirht ! 



PROSE AND POETRY. 65 

And when in the near future 

You are obliged to cross, 
A red light is the feature 

On the nose of your horse ! 



PURGATORY.* 

"We visited the place to-day, 

Where a rumored hell is found ; — 

We roamed along its rugged way 
But saw no Devil around. 

We sat upon the great high rocks 
That looked the chasm o'er, 

But saw none of his puny flocks 
And heard no streams of gore. 

We threw him crackers by the bunch, 
With a lighted fuse on each ; — 

And had he really craved a lunch, 
We were food within his reach ! 

We left our names to catch his sight 
And sauced him at his cave ; — 

And when he goes down home to-night, 
I know he'll wildly rave. 



*A deep ravine or chasm, curiously picturesque and 
startling, which is situated in the town of Sutton, JVIass., 
and bears the above denomination. 



60 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

But I'm sure he was uot there ; 

Does he get ]iis beer at " Plympt's " ? 
If so we passed his fabled mare 

With two of his drunken imps. 



CHERRY-ROT. 

Written in reply to the criticism on my first pamphlet, 
Cherries from a Young Tree." 

Big guns, this editor's notice, 

Three chips from the " Cherry-tree " ; — 
And '' Cherries " are quite the novice 

In newspaper melody ! 

I sigh for your metrical skill, 
I need the great " Caesura " ; — 

To you the Muses give their fill, 
With me they're just peculiar. 

I see tlie jar of faulty rhymes, 
The " Heliotrope " is ample ; — 

But I'll wake up to suit the times. 
Pray give us now a sample. 

Now stick to '' the natural pause," 
. To " random," leave your thinking , — 
Just cram 3'our head with metric laws 
And trade you wit, for clinking ! 

A song from the lusty critic, 
In nice poetical shoes ; — 



PROSE AND POETRY. 67 

I never see any one kick, 

Quite free from the ugly blues. 

No doubt, I liave the common spleen 
And perhaps you'll set me right ; — 

But how plainly it can be seen 
Your spleeny, splenetic flight 1 

Big feet, for my metrical thoughts 
That walk in my poetry prose ; — 

I see you're way up in the arts, 
Now kick at that fly at your nose! 

Three cheers ! for the great '' Caesura," 

I can easily leave my wit ; — 
I'll smoke the cheapest Madura 

And write without thinking a bit. 



THE TIMES. 



The times are now in rank and rueful state 
When feeble actions make our notions great ; 
When silly twiddle twaddle marks our age, 
Eepletes our press and tills her every page : 
When papers much by fancy spread the news, 
And readers more by proxy form their views. 
For columns that should elevate the mind 
Have turned spittoon for phlegm of human kind ; 
And now, the hen that lays the greatest egg 
Is quite of moment as the loss of leg — 



68 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

And liere we read of country maiden frail 
Wlio turns lier tnrkeys to a cheaper mail,"^ 
To gobble out lier greed and love for fame 
By letting printers show her lack of shame; 
And more, a dime-show courts her brazen face 
To scoop the nickels from an easy race — 
But worse, who gave this idle theme the wing, 
This making presents to the booby thing ? 
Wiiile sparing cities deal the poor their need, 
Yet notions such as these we serve indeed. 
And she a teacher in our public schools, 
While strange it is we have so many fools ; 
But wit and sense full well discourai^ed now. 
For ages hence have made their final bow. 

Again, we see the craze of dory fame 
When men will navigate the foamy main 
Witli craft too fickle for a mill-pond gale 
While rabble runs to hear the breezy tale. 
Anon, we liear how entertained by queen, 
And photographs and boat can now be seen, 
While winged the coppers fly to help his state 
For this by foolish times is noted great ! 
Yet, wounded soldiers starve within our fold 
And creaking treasures boast of surplus gold. 

And see the rashful 3'outh ! with jumping vain 
Who risks his life full turned by worldly gain ; 



* A rural individual recently became the recipient of 
numerous valuable presents, by placing begging letters in 
marketable turkeys. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 69 

And lieadlong leaps from off the highest place. 

To sink a lifeless mass through whirling space, 

To be ])iclved up upon the circling bay 

And borne to weeping mother worn and gray. 

Another still attempts the risky feat : 

Who, more fortunate, lands upon his feet. 

And thus in triumph, he is led away 

To make his living in a lazy way. 

Such acts our papers spread with flashy views 

While youthful minds drink deep the catchy 

news ; 
And sigh prodigious for the jumper's art 
AYith loss of comfort to a mother's heart. 

The pugilist for paltry purse of pounds, 
Will flght like beast through many bloody rounds. 
And fall a senseless heap of battered meat. 
To be brought to and learn of his defeat. 
These acts are often backed by men of wealth 
Who thus grow fat through loss to others' health ; 
And oft some quiet spot with grassy mound 
Suggests who met his death by fatal round I 

]S"ow when such acts do every day appear. 
Why wonder then that our decline is near I 
For see. Society has felt the wane 
When character no longer gains a name ; 
And money makes the worth and sense of man 
When fops and fribbles All our better clan. 
The nicety of dress and giddy taste 



70 HEER CHERRYTREE'S 

Is higliest art upon this Liiman waste ; 
And this, or that, is wliolly out of style 
Because it is some chatty woman's wile : 
While such deformities of common sense 
Have drove our wits and all our betters hence — 
And so transformed this elevated plain, 
To worldly thrift and influential gain, 
That higher minds in silence keep apart 
Or And their union in the thinker's art. 

The great Theatre, too, perceives our age. 
And moved by counting dollars suits the rage 
With scenes, where nudity is leading part 
And transformations show the latest art ; 
Or oft adapt some writers trashy tale 
Because it 's great by quickly iinding sale. 
The merits of a piece they ne'er partake, 
Their only question is, to make a stake ; 
And play well advertised, though truly weak, 
Is sure to meet with consecutive week : 
While hisfher scenes and nobler works lie dead 
Because this educator 's lost its head ! 

Behold ! the church has joined the swelling 

throng 
And losing caste, promotes a greater wrong ! 
When men will preach to suit the reigning taste, 
Forsaking truth for folly's sandy waste ; 
And gilded dome and ornamenting arts 
By far outshine the worth of Christian hearts : 



PROSE AND POETRY. 71 

For style and guilt now fill the cushioned pew 
To whom the ushers bow attendance to — 
While there the stranger in the threadbare coat 
Thej scarce observe ; and strikingly remote, 
And almost turned away, he leaves the place 
With loss of faith and many a step from grace. 
And this is where we see our god-like ways 
When pride and fashion rule our Sabbath days ! 

Where church and morals take the downward 

course, 
Who doubts that other factors feel the force ? 
For politics is here with rapid gait 
When cunning schemers hold a country's fate — 
And most like wolves disturb the common good — 
By liowling fraud in every party-hood : 
And thus, attracted by their swelling throats, 
They so deceive and catch our honest votes, 
That often we our interests throw away. 
Or see too late the politician's way. 
But did the people know their mighty strength, — 
Such acts would find a cause too long in length — 
In which deceitful tricks would fail in aim 
And every step would be our country's gain. 

And now monopolies at every hand ! 
With gain their bent devour the yielding land, — 
Or so arrange their crafty ruling schemes. 
That needy people swell their ample means : 
And everywhere their stately mansions rise 



72 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

That well predict the gaining enterprise — • 
While hard oppressed tlie toiler of the day 
Must yield to want and work for little pay ; — 
And able scarce to earn the needful bread 
Full oft his children hungry go to bed : 
And sleep, forgetful of their early cares, 
For God's sweet sleep is not confined to shares. 
'Twere little thus the toiling poor would find 
If syndicates controlled this rest to inind ; 
But far above their vulture-like desire 
It reigns supreme where purer thoughts inspire! 
And yields a peace the world cannot bestow, 
The greatest gift that man can have below. 

And look, inventive themes by legions rise 
That crush the poor while still the wealthy thrive ; 
And note that most of these improving schemes 
Are brought to light by those of lacking means ; 
And slow disposed for merest bagatelle 
While companies arise with capital ; 
And pomp and wealth denote the holder's gain 
While weak inscription gives the maker's name. 
And every trade is so demoralized 
By giving schemes, by dealers advertised, 
That the humble merchant with little means, 
From active business moves to other scenes; 
For now no longer can he hold his own 
Against the rocks of competition blown — 
And what we call the very sap of trade 
For many a merchant a grave has made. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 73 

Is this where civilization points tlie way, 
Or greed for wealth controls with grasping 
sway ? 

Now such and more make up our weany times 

As well as wordy thoughts and jarring rhymes ; 

'Tis true that poetry is in decline 

And literature succeeds where weapons shine ! 

While critics, with the new self-feeding quill 

Still point to lays of Mother Goose's skill— 

And deaf to cries except of silly type 

The world lets go just where it should be tight ; 

And quite neglected, merit sinks away 

Forgotten at night, belittled by day ! 

Eternal love ! for those to honor bound 

Who fill their trusts on conscientious ground, 

And are not moved by rabble's erring sway, 

For truth will come to light, as night to day. 



OTHER DAYS. 

I stand again upon the shore 

Where rumbling falls the heaving bay ;- 
And since I've heard these waters roar 

A swift decade has passed away. 

A swift decade of flying years 

Has swept across this restless deep ; — 

Since I along these rocky piers 
Have seen the gathering billows sweep. 



n HERB CHERRYTREE'S 

Again, the sound of gurgling tide 

Mj willing tliouglits with rapture fill ; — 

And as the breakers near me glide 
1 feel the same familiar thrill. 

'Twas here when hard oppressed I'd stroll 
And leave my load upon the way ; — 

For here beside the breakers' roll 

My cares seemed like the foaming spray. 

And oft along the foam-flecked strand 
I've met some little ones at play ; — 

And writing names upon the sand 

They'd laugh at mine they couldn't say ! 

And from yon high and craggy cliff 
I've watched the ships file out to sea ; — 

And seen the breezes freshening stiif, 
Full speed them on in com])any. 

But now, alone, unknown I stand, 

My crowding thoughts I cannot keep; — 

For time and years these days have spread 
As ships upon the widening deep. 



THE POOR-HOUSE TOOK HIS MOTHER. 

Just in the rear of dismal court 

Where towering buildings cast their shade 
On feeble shanties cropping forth 

In which the sun scarce ever strayed. 



PROSE AXD POETRY. 1 

Beliiiid tlieso walls of cheerless gray 
AYitliiii a room of wretched state, 

An old and feeble woman lay, 

Benniiibed by cold, bestarved by fate. 

With lips now sealed by palsied stroke 

She helpless lies upon a bed, 
Where gnawing- rats \yith crowding choke 

llaye made her stricken ilesh their bread ;-- 
xVnd thus still breathing she is found. 

Then moved to house across the way 
Where little more than hers abound 

Behind these walls of massiye gray. 

Her life has been a bitter war 

To check starvation in its sway ; — 
A meagre crust the most she saw 

From rising morn to closing day : 
Behind these walls there left alone 

By son with money in the bank 
Who married one of higher tone. 

With whom his mother could not rank ! 

Her fate has stirred the court-yard square 

And visitors full thick arrive — 
Who block the way with curious stare 

Or ask if she is still alive ? 
While from their midst with pompous mien 

A man ascends the narrow stair, 
And giving orders plainly seen, 

Suggests for her the pauper's care I 



76 HERR CHERRYTEEE'S 



But needing more than beggar's share 

She lingered scarce till closing day; 
And left her life of weary care 

For rest, where grielless panpers lay- 
Perhaps her son will sometimes think 

For thoughts will not always smother, 
That when he left her at death's brink. 

The poor-house tooh Jds inotlier ! 



THE CITY BANK. 



The city bank is running short, 

And figures tell a lie ; — 
The streets are filled w'ith whisp'ring talk 



A banker's livins: his^h ! 



The sharers, they are losing faith 
In one they placed their trust ; — 

A meeting comes but just too late, 
The bank can only bust ! 

The sun breaks in on palace home. 

The banker's in the jail ! 
While M'ife and children thej^ can moan 

And face the shameful tale. 

But wait, they'll let him out again 
And hush this awful steal ;— 

For things will take a brighter vein 
When banker states his deal ! 



PROSE AND POETRY. ■ 77 

Behold ! tliey talk of compromise, 

The banker now goes free ; — 
And banks are sure to meet a rise 

When thieves again agree. 

The news lias reached the poor man's home, 
And chills the evening meal ; — 

His thoughts are centered on his own, - 
He fears the coming deal. 

And to the poor the banks run short 

WitJi them the figures lie ; — 
For they must pay where bankers sport 

And keep them living high ! 



I WAS A MILLIONAIRE. 

I once became a millionaire 

With grand estates and palaces ; — 
And quite enough of worldly share 

In equipage and carriages : 
I owned the finest palace car 

That ever rolled o'er glistening rail 
I had the swiftest yacht by far 

That ever spread or furled a sail. 

I had my cooks and butler, too. 
Imported from the royal isle ; — 

For me Americans wouldn't do, 
I liked the iri'eat ancestral stvle : 



78 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

My pretty maids and valets came 
From crowded courts of emiiiencCj 

My money quickly gave me fame 
I needed them as evidence. 

I gave my banquets and my hops 

At which the gay elite would shine ; — 
And get quite full with gadding fops 

By sitting long at sj)arkling wine ; — 
I had my truly blooded mare 

That entered every steeple chase, 
And brought me in a goodly share 

When figured in a winning race. 

I visited the other side 

And went among the ruling squibs ; — 
'Twas here I found my royal bride 

And won her heart with crowning fibs : 
I married in the greatest style 

"With honeymoon on foreign land — 
And when I came back to the isle 

I felt the grasp of every hand. 

They wanted me in parliament 

To re-arrange their reigning laws ; — 
But I preferred the continent 

And left them to adjust their flaws ; 
And after many fond adieus 

"We saw the land slip out of sight, 
- Which gave my wife the worst of blues 

And brought her little rest that night. 



PEOSE AND POETRY. 79 

But on the morn she seemed quite well, 

And through the many pleasant days, 
"We watched the ocean's ceaseless swell 

And felt its grand majestic sways. 
But soon we sighted native shores. 

My friends were quick to board the ship, 
My wife was kissed by many scores, 

And all I heard was of the trip. 

At eve a grand reception came, 

The papers teemed with selling news ; — 
And in the columns of the same 

I there appeared in artist's views : 
And thus I lived in grandest style 

I made the town a princely gift, 
But here I have to add a smile. 

For scenes must now by changes shift. 

For every cat will have its night, 

The grandest dream its breaking morn ; — 
And so my thoughts had taken flight 

From out the little end the horn ; — 
And daylight came to room quite bare 

Wherein I dreamed, wherein I woke ! 
Indeed, I was no millionaire, 

In fact, I really was dead-hroke / 



80 HERB CHEBEYTEEE'S 

WELCOME. 

There's a motto framed and hanging 
In a room just o'er the way, 

And the worsted work has meaning, 
Though it cannot " welcome " say. 

" "Welcome " is the word that's woven 
In the frame just o'er the door, 

And the sunlit window open 
Throws it shadow on the floor. 

The little nymph now a sleeping 
On the bed so clean and white. 

Is the wisdom and the meaning 
Of the motto I would write. 

My kisses are with her slumbering 
On those lips so shapely sweet, 

And the snowy sheets lie crumpling 

At the dainty dimpled feet. 

• 

Can it be of me she's thinking 

In the twilight of her dream, 

How marked and plain the meaning 

Of the motto I have seen. 

For she came in days of sadness, 
I had long been out of work, 

But she filled our home with gladness 
With her cunning little chirp. 



PRO:?E AND POETRY. 81 

And she pays with love and kisses, 
'Twas bj this our hearts she won, 

She has Mama's golden tresses 
And Daddy's little " welcome " ! 



THEIR COURTSHIP. 

The funniest little courtship 

That ever anybody saw. 
You may talk of love and friendship 

But this was first a common jaw ; 
Now they first became acquainted 

Behind the bars with prison rife : 
And too it was intimated 

That they were sentenced there for life. 

But this did not seem to fret them 

I never heard them heave a sigh ; 
Though escape tliey could and often, 

I never saw them even try : 
Yet when poor Pete he spoke of love 

I wish you could have seen her eyes, 
I know lie wislied himself above 

A roost just nearer to the skies. 

You may talk about the eagle, 
And all the fury it can boast ; 

'Twas a jcws-harp to a bugle, 
Or a Tlaiiilet t:> ;i G]u)^t ! 



62 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

Anon, thej took a different turn, 
And kisses filled the dullest ears ; 

If ever heart got its return 

It came in this the maiden's fears. 

And Cupid won by faultless aim 

For prisoners thej were in truth, 
And bound each other's heart became 

As fast as in the prison booth ; — 
While now behind the shading bars 

They talk of having babies, 
For such oft leads from family jars 

In courtships of canaries ! 



DYING ALONE. 

Passing away ! 

Within the gloom of squalid home, 
A worn and wearied woman lay ; — 
Waiting for death, waiting alone ! 

Dying alone ! 

Without one little word of cheer ; — 
With feet alike the coldest stone 
And now another night is near. 

Dying for bread ! 

Within the sound of Christian ears ;- 
Without a hand to hold her head 
Or wipe away her choking tears. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 83 

Dying at last ! 

While lingers now one feeble spark ; — 

A little quiver, all is past ! 

Her soul lias left the room so dark. 

Now stiff and cold ! 
Within the shade of churchy gray ; — 
And 7ione will close her lips and fold 
Those arms of weary working clay. 

Rotten and foul ! 

The nose of human aid is keen ; — 
And but for this and tenant's growl, 
Slie'd been there noiv, for all I've seen! 

But found at last ! 

She's borne like beast to hiding grave ;— 
Her lonely death repeats the past 
That man neo-lects, but God will save ! 



A LIKELIHOOD. 

The river runs beneath my feet, 
The waters sparkle in the sun ; — 

With me my days are quite as fleet 
As on the stream of time they run— - 

A humble birtli, the merest start, 

And soon I reached the river's side ;- 

A little light the darker part 

And now among the surges glide. 



S4 HERE CHERRYTREE'S 

And through the bridge I'll wliirl at last 
Quite worn witli froth and foam of time; 

For in the waters sweeping past 
I see a fate resembling mine. 



ROCKS. 



I sit in my old rocking chair 
And write my poetry prose ; — 

I meet my share of worldly care 
And like my seedy clothes. 

I see in my old rocking chair 
The eyes of envy green ; — 

I find my friends have quite a share 
Of this the common spleen. 

I hear in my old rocking chair 
My songs have scarce a sale ; — 

I turn to jest the feeble scare 
And jibe the flapping tale. 

I rock in my old rocking chair 
At close of toilsome day : 

And watch my critics pulling hair, 
While I rock on and say, 

I'll keep my old rocking chair. 
My wife and dog are mine ; — 

I've rocked a lot of weary care 
Asleep in simple rhyme. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 85 

I'll sing ill my old rocking chair 

The songs tliat seldom sell ; — 
I'll give the world my meagre share, 

And let the ao^es tell. 



A CANDIDATE. 

A howling wolf is at the door, 
With cries of '' Let me in ! " 

The greed of office is his gore 
His aim is but to win. 

He bloats the town with speeches red 
And dictates for our gain ; — 

Four years ago he turned and said 
'Twas for the very same. 

He changed our votes where'er he could 

By fair and scaly means ; — 
He gave them work who ever would 

■Support his selfish themes. 

And now he hopes for needed aid 
From those he tried to crush ; — 

If this is what the party's made 
I feel the staining blush ! 

But when men come to cast their vote 
And howl still marks the door — 

May righteous acts their course promote 
For wolves come back for more. 



86 HERR CHERRYTREE'S 

DEATH. 

O, Death, thou good Samaritan, 
Heedless of either sex or clan, 

Thou giv'st to all a better aid 

Than either earth or life persuade. 

Best physician, of ablest skill. 

Thy cure bespeaks no boding ill ; — 

Though sweets may oft neglect the draught 
Its bitterness is with the thought. 

Thou fiend ! and in no better light 
To those who act with equal right ; — 

But messenger of love divine. 

To those who hold thy God, is mine ! 



ORATORS, VIA SORE-HEADS. 

I'm a sore-headed orator 

Without any fame ; — 
For the bump is the factor 

As I will explain : — 
I've always longed for the stage 

But what if I should squawk. 
And you know 'tis all the rage 

To just get up and talk. 

I'm a sore- headed orator 

With great political views. 
Big deals for my repertoire 



pnOSE AND POETRY. 87 

Town gossip for my news ; — 
I could make a grand discourse 

If I only got a start, 
For as a matter of course 

I come from the State they're smart. 

I'm a sore-headed orator 

Of pugilistic fame ; — 
I'm down on keeping order 

And I've a terrible name — 
I should have spoken long ago 

I have had many a chance ; — 
I use to run a sparring show 

And end with a social dance. 

I'm a sore-headed orator 

And I detest to see, 
Those who can do the actor 

When 'tis too much for nie / — 
For how small it makes me feel 

When seeing what I lack, 
But I'm sure to lose the deal 

If fortune cuts the pack. 

I'm a sore-headed orator 

In the very worst line, 
And I hiss any performer 

Even locally fine ; — 
For I hate music and wit 

If to elevate it aims, 



88 PROSE AND POETRY. 

And I will have none of it 
Because I liave'nt the brains. 

The sore-headed orator 

Is becoming quite thick, 
And though a dandy performer 

He is always too sick ; — 
But if wind did the talking: 

And parrots made the words, 
"We would soon hear a squawking 

Like the common oreen birds. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRPQC 

016 117 862 7 



^ 



